Bow season memories

It seems like just a few weeks ago I was writing about all the big deer (and small one’s, too) that were taken in bow season. In reality, it’s been almost a year now and hunters are making last minute preps to hit the woods again. Talk about time flying by.

For whatever reason, the approaching season has made me think about some of my bow hunts from the past. Back when I started deer hunting, I was bow-only. I don’t exactly know why. I really liked using a bow and I didn’t own or have access to a deer rifle, so I guess the decision was made for me.

When I was 15 and got my first bow and I quickly became a good shot. Shooting instinctively, at twenty yards I couldn’t shoot more than three arrows at a time because I would invariably damage a shaft or shoot a nock off if I had more than three arrows in the target. Being a typically broke teen, the thought of having to fork over money for more Easton Gamegetters was painful.

Being a good shot and killing a deer are two different animals. Not only did I not know how to hunt deer, I didn’t know anyone who did. That said, I was in my early twenties before I shot my one and only deer with a bow.

That hunt wasn’t all that memorable other than I was shaking so badly, I missed the deer twice before I forced myself to settle down and put a shaft through the chest. Yes, the deer ran off and came right back after I missed the first two times.

What I think was my most memorable hunt from those days actually took place while hunting from the same tree that I shot the doe from. I had been sitting in my climbing stand all afternoon and had not seen a thing other than birds and squirrels. That can keep me entertained only so long. As the sun started to sink, I was bored to tears. I hadn’t heard anything that even remotely sounded like a deer.

As the sun went down, the only thing that broke the boredom was a cottontail that was feeding about 25 yards away. It got darker and darker. Finally, I came to the conclusion that unless a deer came and stood right in front of me within the next minute or two, I would not have enough light to shoot.

That’s when I decided to have a little fun. I drew back my recurve, took a good look at the rabbit and let the shaft loose. The flight seemed like it was taking forever and about halfway through it, I started thinking it was actually going to hit my target. (Remember, no sights. At twenty five yards, a rabbit’s chest is a pretty small target.)

I kept watching the arrow arc downward and couldn’t believe it – it was actually going to make contact. The Bear Razorhead went through the vitals and the rabbit didn’t know what had happened. It just sat there, pinned to the ground by a 2018 shaft. When he tried to move and couldn’t, he figured out his evening meal had become his last supper. It soon expired.

Don’t ask why, but I was more excited about harvesting that rabbit with a recurve than I was the doe. I don’t know if downing a 200-inch buck would have made me happier. What I do know is that it was the best tasting fried rabbit I’ve ever eaten. Another thing I know is that after 25 years, I’m itching to go try it again.

Comments

About The Author

I grew up hunting and fishing in Nashville, Tenn., tagging along behind my father and older brother before I was old enough to carry a gun or use a rod and reel. I started so early, I can't remember ever not hunting and fishing.
Now living in Miss., the smallmouth bass and rainbow trout of Tenn. have given way to bluegill and crappie, along with the occasional trip for specks and reds. Hunting season is mostly focused on deer with a few ducks thrown in for good measure.
That said, I still think there is nothing more fun than sitting on a bream bed with a couple of tubes of crickets and watching the cork go down as a big bull hammers it. Anyone who knows me will tell you, I can do it all day long.